


Another Life

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Badass Castiel, Civilian Life, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Jack's Powers, Magic, Team Free Will Big Bang 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-11-01 22:20:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 18,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20526230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: In an attempt to make things right after Crowley’s sacrifice, Rowena turns to the Book of the Damned. The spell she casts has consequences and the world is changed. With her help, Jack must find a way to bring his family back from the places they have been flung into — lives that some of them might not want to leave.Art by CrowleyKoh85Beta'd by SamGirlDeanCuriousPre read by VegasGranny & Ncsupnatfan





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to my contribution to the Team Free Will Big Bang. The beautiful art was made by CrowleyKoh85.   
SamGirlDeanCurious did an amazing job of working with my run-on sentences and misplaced commas as a beta, and VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan were invaluable as pre-readers. If there’s a point in this story that you like especially, it’s probably something that came as a result of their suggestions.

** _ _ **

** _Chapter One_ **

The blaring of Jack’s alarm dragged him from sleep, and he groaned as he rolled over and hit the button to silence it. The ear-piercing sound cut off and was replaced by the radio. A song was playing with a man crooning something about a woman waiting. Jack listened to the song for a moment and smiled, thinking it was a good one. Dean would hate it, but Jack thought Sam would enjoy it. He lay in bed a moment longer to catch the name of the singer to pass on to Sam and then nodded as the DJ said, “And that was She Waits by Louden Swain.”

Jack got out of bed and padded barefoot to the dresser to grab clean clothes. He chose a shirt that Castiel had helped him pick out and a pair of jeans.

For someone that only ever wore the same suit and strange coat that Dean said made him look like a pervert, Castiel had seemed to enjoy their shopping excursion. Jack wondered if it was because he never had a chance to shop for himself. It was more fun shopping with him than with Sam and Dean. Sam had taken him to a section of a store with plaid and denim and told him to grab what he wanted, whereas Dean had just grabbed a cart and thrown things into it at random—including two dresses. Jack still wasn’t sure if the dresses were jokes or just Dean not paying attention to what he was doing.

Clothes gathered, Jack walked along the hall and into the bathroom, hung his clothes on a peg and then set the water running in one of the cubicles. There were a dozen shower stalls in the large room, and Jack could use any of them, but they all seemed to have claimed one for themselves, so Jack stuck to his. Dean’s was stocked only with shampoo and mint scented shower gel, but Sam had more products on the shelf of his. Dean said that was because Sam was a woman and it therefore took a lot more grooming to make him pretty, but Jack thought it was something to do with Sam’s long hair. It must need more than just shampoo to keep it from tangling. It wasn’t the sort of thing he could ask without inviting Dean’s cackle of amusement and teasing, so he didn’t. Sam wouldn’t thank him for giving Dean ammunition to tease. There was already plenty of that floating around.

While he showered, Jack remembered the way things had started for him with Dean. When Jack first met him, Dean had shot at him. Soon after he’d told him he’d kill him. He hadn’t softened at all for a long time, and that had been hard for Jack to bear when set against Sam’s patience and understanding. When Dean had started to accept him, it had been only a short time before Jack was trapped in the apocalypse world. He’d never really had a chance to get to know who Dean really was. That all changed when they got back from the apocalypse world and Jack killed Michael and Lucifer; with the weight of those threats off of him, Dean changed. He was happy now, not just sometimes when the situation was right, but almost all the time. He laughed and joked and relaxed. When they weren’t hunting, evenings were spent in his ‘man cave’ watching bad horror movies and drinking beer.

Sam had changed as well. The weight that seemed to be on his shoulders as long as Jack had known him was lifted and he smiled more, laughed at the things Dean said, and sometimes joined them for movies when he wasn’t cataloguing his father’s and the Apocalypse World Bobby’s journals into the Men of Letters records. He said he was going to move on to the creatures he and Dean had encountered in their years of hunting next. Jack sometimes helped him, though he found it boring and saw that it was going to take a while to finish.

Castiel was happy too; he wore a special smile as he helped Sam and watched movies with Dean.

Jack didn’t really see before how they were impacted by everything that had happened to them all over the years until it was over. The fact he’d had a part of changing that for them made him feel better than good. It was as though his chest was filled with something warm, lighter than air.

His thoughts buoying him up, he shampooed his hair and soaped himself up, then rinsed off and stepped out of the cubicle with one towel around his waist and another draped over his shoulders. He dried his body and dressed, then gave his hair a cursory towelling off so it stopped dripping. Then he ran a comb through it. Dean would ask him if he’d forgotten something if he saw him with wet hair, but Jack was in a hurry. His contented thoughts of his family had given him a hopeful idea. If they were still sleeping—if Sam was—Jack could enjoy a quiet and satisfyingly unhealthy breakfast alone.

He went back to his bedroom to put on his socks and shoes, and then quickly strode along the hall to the library calling for Castiel. He was careful to keep his voice low so as not to wake anyone, knowing Castiel would be able to hear him if he was close. There was no reply, and Jack guessed he was outside somewhere, enjoying the morning. He did that sometimes. When Jack was awake with him, needing less sleep than Sam and Dean, he would go with him. They would stand in the field near the bunker and watch the sunrise together.

There was no one in the library, though it was so tidy Jack thought Dean must have been nesting again. Jack hurried across it and along the next hall toward the kitchen, a spring in his step. If Sam was awake and in there already, Jack would have breakfast with him, but it would be a fruit salad or something equally as healthy and disappointing. If Jack could eat without him, he could have Krunch Cookie without seeing Sam’s worried eyes. He said Jack’s choices would rot his teeth, but Jack had seen Dean eating them and his teeth were just fine. Jack thought Sam was just being overprotective.

The kitchen was empty, too, and Jack grinned as he grabbed a bowl from the rack and went to the cupboard to retrieve his cereal. He stopped with his hand on the box and frowned as he saw what was wrong with the contents. There were four boxes of Krunch Cookie there when there had only been one box the day before. There was also an open box of Three Musketeers candy bars that Jack didn’t remember being there yesterday.

It could be explained away if one of them—surely Dean or Castiel—had gone to the store and stocked up, but Jack didn’t remember any of them going out yesterday, and his candy bars usually came one by one, not by the box. There was no other reason for any of them to indulge him. His birthday had come and gone—celebrated with pizza and beer, though Dean had suggested a trip to a place called Plucky’s that Sam seemed troubled by.

Unless there was some other celebration he was unaware of due—these things still confused him sometimes—something weird was going on.

He set the box and his bowl down on the table and went to the refrigerator to get the milk. There was something unexpected in there, too. The milk was there, but rest of the fridge’s contents were gone. Sam’s fruit and salad in the drawer was missing, as was Dean’s hamburger and the half-empty six-pack of beer that had been left after their movie the evening before. Jack had been the last to go to bed, and he’d not drunk any more beer. It was highly unlikely Castiel drank them; he said it was a waste of time as it tasted of molecules and the alcohol didn’t affect him.

Jack allowed the door of the refrigerator to swing closed, and he made his way back through the halls to the library, calling for Castiel loudly this time. There was no response from inside the bunker, but Jack felt the hum in his mind ratchet up a notch. Castiel had taught him to block angel radio, and he usually did, but it must be exceptionally loud for him to be hearing it now.

He looked around the library, seeing the real signs he’d missed before. The room wasn’t just tidy; things were gone. The table Sam had the laptop, scanner and printer set up on was clear. The pages of his father’s journal which are normally spread out were gone as well. The coffee cup had been cleared away, and the decanter of whiskey on the cabinet was nowhere to be seen and had been replaced by a bottle of soda.

Feeling worried now, he rushed along the halls to Sam’s room, the first he came to, and knocked hard on the door. There was no response, and Jack pushed it open and peered inside. He thought at first that he’d gotten the wrong room, but when he checked the door, he saw the polished numbers were right. There was nothing inside Sam’s room though. It looked as untouched as his own had the day Sam settled him in it. There was no sign Sam had ever been in there at all.

His heart starting to race, he ran along the hall to Dean’s room and threw open the door without knocking. This room was just as empty as Sam’s had been. He knew even before he went to the room that Castiel used that it too would be empty, and so he wasn’t surprised to see the neatly made bed and clear furniture.

Something was really wrong. It was as if they’d disappeared in the night, or as if they’d never been here at all. If he didn’t know them better, he would have thought they had planned this as a joke, but none of them would ever do this to him. They’d all been through too much as a family to ever pull that kind of prank on someone else.

He rushed to his room and yanked his phone free from the charger. He hit the speed-dial assigned to Castiel, but nothing happened. There was no number saved. He tried Sam’s and then Dean’s, but there were no numbers to connect to there either. He closed his eyes and took a breath, concentrating and then called up Castiel’s number from his memory and dialled it. An automated voice told him that the number had not been recognised. His heart sinking, he dialled Sam’s number and then Dean’s without expectation and was told by the same voice that their numbers had not been recognized either. He knew he hadn’t gotten them wrong as he had an eidetic memory. There was no way he could have forgotten.

Panicking now, his mind filling with possibilities of what could have happened to them, he leaned against the wall and tried to breathe. This couldn’t be a joke, which meant something powerful was at play. Angels could wipe and create memories but there were hardly any angels left. Heaven was only sustained by the grace of Michael and Lucifer that he’d extracted before killing them, and the ones that remained stayed there to guard the souls. None of them would have done this to him, he thought. He was stronger than them. And why would they? The angels liked him now that he had helped to save Heaven. The hostile angels, Michael and Lucifer, were dead. No one would want to do this.

He stood frozen, unsure of what to do or even where to start, when a sound broke into his thoughts. A hand hammered against the door of the bunker. He ran back to the library and map room and scaled the stairs to the door, his heart hammering. He had no idea if it would be a friend or possibly a threat that was trying to get in, but he was desperate for someone else to help him make sense of what had happened.

He unbolted the door and swung it open, seeing Rowena standing on the threshold, her hand poised to knock again.

“Finally!” she said, lowering her hand. “What took you so long? Did I get you out of bed?”

Relieved at the sight of the witch, he sighed and said, “Something’s wrong.”

“You’re telling me,” she said, brushing past him and descending the stairs.

Jack closed the door and bolted it again, wary of whoever might be out there. He rushed down after her, and watched her set down her large brown bag on the table and take out a hip flask. 

She took a long draw on the flask, gasped, and said, “Thirsty?” as she held it out unsteadily to Jack.

“No,” Jack said quickly. “Something is going on, Rowena.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “Is it? I hadn’t noticed, dear.”

“Sam, Dean, and Castiel are gone.”

She laughed, bending over and holding her stomach, and Jack watched her incredulously. She obviously knew at least a little of what had happened, so why was it funny?

“Oh, you poor wee lamb, everyone is gone,” she said with a sigh as her rather maniacal laughter finally tapered off.

“What’s going on?” Jack asked.

Rowena took another drink from her flask and pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sit, dear, or not. Do nephilim’s get watery legs from shock?” She shrugged. “I guess we’re about to find out. I _might_ have done _something_ that did a _little_ something to your family.”

Jack glowered at her. “What have you done to them?”

He thought she was on their side. She had helped them with the spell to use the grace he’d taken from Lucifer and Michael and create a power source for Heaven. He’d liked her then, even though she wasn’t fond of him, but she had seemed to have a mutual respect and almost liking for Sam and Dean.

Rowena pressed her fingertips to her temples and said, “I had a son…”

“Crowley,” Jack said. “My mother met him and I saw him through her eyes. He was trying to defeat Lucifer with Sam and Dean. Sam told me he died.”

“He did,” she said sadly. “It was a heroic death but still a stupid one. There were two Winchesters there that could have taken his place, we all know death is just a vacation for them, but _no_… He wanted to be the one to take your father down, to trap him in that place. It was a bloody stupid idea, and Lucifer was only trapped five minutes before he slithered back here like the snake he was, but my son was killed for it. I wanted him back.”

“What did you do?” Jack asked again, a bite of anger in his voice now.

“I created a fold in the universe. The idea was that I would be able to pluck him out of 1713, before he could make that ridiculous deal, and bring him back here to have another chance at a human life.” She stared into Jack’s eyes, a nervous look on her face. “He deserved that from me. I let him down in every other way imaginable. But it went wrong. I couldn’t reach him, and I couldn’t create the fold. All I managed to do was tear it down the middle, opening us to another world at the same time. I used magic to piece it back together like a jigsaw, but things got muddled. A few pieces were forced into the wrong place. A few other pieces were lost. A few more appeared. And now I can’t make sense of the picture.”

“The pieces that were lost…” Jack said slowly with a sick, sinking feeling in his gut, “are they gone forever? Does it mean they’re dead?”

Rowena looked at him, her wide, green eyes imploring. “I don’t know. I know one of them is alive as I heard it on the radio on the way here, and maybe he’ll know more than us.”

Jack swallowed hard but his voice still cracked as he asked, “Who’s alive?”

In answer, Rowena took a slim cell phone from her bag and tapped at the screen for a moment before holding it out to Jack. He took it and saw that there was a video buffering. He tapped the screen and a woman seated behind a desk with a red, white and blue logo behind her smiled at the camera and said, “_Good Morning, America. Today’s news centers on the report that Castiel, Angel of the Lord and savior of mankind, will be paying a visit to earth today to speak at a meeting of world leaders and the divine in New York. The president is said to be pleased to have a chance to speak to him face to face to share his views of angel/human cooperation. The president set off for New York on Air Force One an hour ago with a contingent of representatives, and he is said to be meeting the British Prime Minister in New York City for a briefing on current affairs before they will be given audience with Castiel. We will now join Phillip Zuckerman in New York for more on this story…”_

Jack gaped at the screen as a man began to extoll on the rarity of the meeting and the mood of the country. Rowena plucked the phone from his hand and closed the video.

“That’s…”

“Incredible,” she supplied. “I agree. From what I saw on the news sites on the way over, Castiel was pivotal in trapping Michael and Lucifer in the Cage in 2010.”

Jack shook his head. “No, I know this, they told me. Sam dragged them both to the Cage after Castiel banished Michael. Dean reached Sam to make him take control of Lucifer.”

Rowena took a draw on her flask and said, “Did you miss the part about the jigsaw puzzle, dear?”

“No… I mean… I don’t understand. How could Castiel have done it alone?”

“No idea. I didn’t delve that deep into the mystery. I was busy trying to track down Sam and Dean. I figured if Castiel is out there, making a name for himself, they would be, too. Crowley told me they were mixed up in that apocalypse nastiness from the very beginning. They weren’t there though.” She looked away. “There was just a lot of bluster about Castiel and his army.”

Jack closed his eyes. “So they could be gone? Dead or just wiped away from the world completely?”

“They could be…” She held out her flask. “Want a drink now?”

Jack did want a drink. He wanted something to dull the shock and horror he was feeling. He felt like he was being pressed in on at every angle by blades that pierced his flesh. Even breathing hurt. Blocking it out would be a blessing, but there was something more important than what he wanted. There were people who needed him.

“I don’t want a drink,” he said, pleased to hear his voice came out steady and defiant.

“No? Then what do you want?”

His eyes burned gold with determined power. “I want to find my family. And you’re going to help.”

Rowena sagged in her chair and set the flask down on the table. “I thought you might say that.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Bollocks!”


	2. Chapter 2

** _Chapter Two_ **

Jack and Rowena arrived in a street with people walking purposefully towards them, some carrying placards and others carrying books.

Rowena swayed slightly, and Jack grabbed her arm to steady her. He wasn’t sure if it was the shock of flight that had affected her or if she was still feeling the effects of the whiskey she’d been drinking, but Jack had no patience for either part of it.

She looked around and said, “Very subtle, Jack. Really. No one would have noticed us arriving in the middle of Forty-Second Street. Should we have brought a bull horn to announce our presence a little easier?”

Jack felt a pang of worry, and then he relaxed as he saw that none of the people walking towards them seemed upset by the sudden arrival of a nephilim and witch among them. In fact, some of them seemed awed. Others averted their eyes and skirted past them, giving them space.

“I don’t think they mind,” he said.

Rowena looked around and said, “You’re right. They can see us though. I wonder what they’re thinking.”

“Does it matter?” Jack asked. “It’s not going to help us find my family.”

“Probably not. Come on then, they seem to know where they’re going, and looking at their placards, I think they’re going to lead us where we want to be.”

Jack looked at the placards and read one aloud. “Welcome Castiel, Savior of All.”

“They’re obviously fans,” Rowena said. “Come on then.”

They fell into step behind a group of people and turned a corner to see a large crowd that had formed around the front of a skyscraper with walls that seemed formed almost entirely of glass. Jack saw there was a flight of steps that led to the entrance, and there were people in black suits with guns on their hips standing at either side of the door, their eyes scanning the crowd.

“Security is out in force,” Rowena said, standing on tiptoes to look over the crowd, her hand on Jack’s shoulder to steady herself. And here comes the big guy.”

Five cars pulled up in front of the building, a black limousine with two SUVs flanking it on all sides. The limousine door was opened by a uniformed man, and the President climbed out. He walked up the steps, surrounded by armed men in black, then stopped to wave at the cheering crowd. He stood for a moment, taking in their reaction, and then disappeared into the building.

“He’s here,” Rowena said. “Castiel can’t be far behind.”

“He’s coming,” Jack said excitedly. “I can sense him.”

Rowena raised an eyebrow. “You can do that?”

“Yes. I can sense all angels. Castiel is clearest to me as I know him so well. He’s my father.”

“He’s one of them,” Rowena pointed out.

Though Jack was sure she was referring to Lucifer, he wasn’t going to respond. Lucifer was not his father; Sam, Dean and Castiel were. Lucifer was nothing but a bad memory.

The closer Castiel got, the clearer Jack could sense him, and then there was a murmur of excitement in the crowd as four angels appeared at the top of the steps. They were armed with angel blades that shone in the morning light, and their expressions were strangely triumphant. Even the angels Jack had seen in Heaven didn’t look like this. Jack didn’t have long to ponder however, as Castiel appeared at the top of the steps.

He wore none of the triumph of the angels with him, he looked strangely serene as the crowd erupted with cries of his name, their reaction so much more impassioned than the one the President had drawn. A woman beside Jack held up her hands in prayer and tears streamed down her cheeks. 

“Now’s your chance,” Rowena said, nudging Jack with her elbow. “Send up the Bat Signal.”

“Cas!” Jack shouted, standing on tiptoes and raising his hands. “Cas, I need to talk to you.”

People around him turned to him, looking scandalized, and the crying woman hissed, “Show some respect! His name is _Castiel_.”

“Yes, of course it is,” Rowena said smoothly then lowered her voice to whisper to Jack, “Don’t agitate the devout, dear.” She spoke up, addressing the woman. “Excuse my friend. He’s just overexcited. Would you mind helping us out. We’ve been a little out of touch. How exactly did Castiel save the world?”

“How can you not know that?” the woman asked, her eyes wide with shock.

Jack kept his gaze on Castiel as he raised a hand to the crowd in a kind of lazy salute and then disappeared into the building, only half-listening to the conversation happening around him.

“We’ve been out of touch,” Rowena said. “We were in the UK, and you know they don’t keep up to date with foreign news.”

“The apocalypse was _world_ news.”

“Not for those of us in the institution,” Rowena said.

The crying woman nodded understandingly and said, “Castiel saved the world by absorbing the souls of Purgatory and banishing Lucifer and Michael to the Cage. He killed Raphael when he opposed him.”

“Purgatory?” Jack asked, remembering a conversation he’d had with Castiel one night when Sam and Dean were sleeping. Castiel had filled him in on the world as it had been before Jack was born. Castiel had said—or maybe admitted was more appropriate—that he had almost destroyed the world by releasing the Leviathans when he’d absorbed their souls to kill Raphael. 

“Yes. King Crowley helped him.”

Rowena’s eyes widened. “Crowley! He’s alive?”

“_King_ Crowley, yes. I heard he’s making an appearance on the Today Show this morning.”

Rowena gripped Jack’s arm and whispered. “Crowley, Jack! We need to find him!”

The woman raised an eyebrow. “You need to find the King?”

“He’s her son,” Jack said. “Castiel is my father.”

The woman took a step back and crossed herself. She looked scared and then a strange kind of calm settled over her face and her voice became solicitous. “Have you been bleeding?”

Jack frowned. “Not recently.”

The woman smiled slightly and said, “I see. Excuse me.” She backed away from them and then turned and rushed toward a cop that was standing behind them, his eyes moving restlessly over the people gathered in front of the building.

“Get us out of here, Jack,” Rowena said urgently.

“Why?” Jack asked. “She might be able to tell us more about Castiel. And we didn’t even ask about Sam and Dean.”

“All that woman is doing for us is summoning the men in white coats to cart us off.”

Jack frowned. “Cart us off where?”

“Rubber rooms, dear.” She shook his arm as the cop started towards him, his hand on the gun at his hip. “Now, Jack!”

Jack gripped her arm and took flight away. He brought them to a stop inside the building in a men’s room. Rowena pulled her arm free and hurried across the room to lock the door and then wrinkled her nose as she looked around.

“Urinal cakes, lovely. You need to look for better runways.”

“I don’t use a runway.”

She sighed. “Or apparently any sense of direction. Well, that wasn’t a complete waste of time. We know Crowley is alive and where to find him.”

“But not where to find Sam and Dean,” Jack said. “If they’re even alive. They weren’t in Bobby’s world.”

“True,” Rowena said thoughtfully. “And Castiel will know if they are here. He might have saved the world without their help, but…” She sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“Oh what?” Jack asked, grabbing her shoulders. “What are you thinking?”

Rowena shrugged herself free. “It’s just an idea, and remember that you need me to help if they can be found so you can’t kill me, but it’s just that Lucifer and Michael are in the Cage now which means they had vessels to be trapped in.”

“But Sam and Dean were supposed to be their vessels.”

“Exactly.” She stared him in the eye, seeming to be waiting for something. “And if they were the vessels for this Michael and Lucifer…”

Jack felt a heavy weight drop into his gut. “You think they’re in the Cage? They can’t be!”

“Can’t they? I don’t like the idea either. I’m fond of them.”

“I love them!” Jack said fiercely.

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I don’t want them trapped there. Crowley told me what it did to Sam to be trapped in that place.” She clapped her hands. “First things first, we need to know if they are actually in this world, and if so, it they’re in the Cage. For that we need to speak to Castiel and make him see we’re friends.”

“How do we do that?”

She shrugged. “I’m not sure how, but I know it hinges on you. Perhaps if he sees you, it will nudge something in that strange brain of his. It’s our best shot. He cares about you after all. At least he did before…”

“Before you destroyed the world,” Jack said bitterly.

“That’s a bit extreme. This world isn’t exactly destroyed. In fact, I think it’s probably a lot better. The world was saved in a different way, and all the nastiness that followed was obviously avoided.”

“Sam and Dean aren’t here!”

“They might be. For all we know, they’re still crossing the country killing vampires.”

“Or they’re in Hell with two angry archangels!”

Rowena sighed. “Yes. I know. Go on then, you pop off and find Castiel.”

Jack grabbed her arm. “You’re coming.”

Rowena laughed softly. “You might not have noticed the men with guns, but they’re what we call the Secret Service, and they’re known to be trigger happy if they perceive you as a threat. If we arrive near their boss, they’re going to shoot us. You might not mind a bullet or two, but I do. And that’s not taking in the angels that will probably be there. I’ll come back, of course, but dying is a painful business and I’ve already been through it twice thanks to your father.”

“He was not my father,” Jack growled. “He was a monster.”

Rowena shrugged. “Call him what you like, the fact remains I can be killed and I don’t want to be.”

Jack gripped her arm tighter and said, “Then I won’t let them see you.”

“Happen to have an invisibility cloak?”

“No, but I have grace and that will work just as well.” 

“You can make me invisible?” she asked curiously.

“Yes, but that’s not what we’re doing. We’re just going to be fast.”

Rowena looked doubtful, but Jack wasn’t worried. He was the most powerful being on earth. He could handle this. 


	3. Chapter 3

** _Chapter Three_ **

** **

Castiel stood at the window, staring out at the East River and the crowds of humans below. They were sheep, all of them, but these were his sheep and therefore to be tolerated. The ones that weren’t his were the problem. He did not need adulation, that was for his Father, but he demanded respect and obedience. It was their world that he had saved, not his Heaven, and they should be grateful.

The Host tried to hide the less than savory aspects of the humans’ behavior from him, but he knew, he always knew; he was the Savior. He knew that some of them gathered in groups and burned effigies of him. Someone complained about his continued interference in their world, growing more agitated when there were meetings such as there would be today with the sheep leaders. They thought he should stick to Heaven now the world was saved, as if they had a right to an opinion at all.

Perhaps they didn’t know, or perhaps they didn’t want to, that he was still needed in their world. It was falling apart once again, and without him they were doomed, though even he had to admit he’d made no headway in saving them yet.

He forced himself to listen to the president again as he read from his carefully prepared notes.

“There are new cases every day, Castiel, and that’s just the ones that are being reported. People are getting scared and hiding the infected in their families.”

“They must stop,” Castiel said mildly.

“I agree, but we have not found an actionable plan of how. The cover story is beginning to fail. They don’t all believe that we’re curing the taken now. The misinformation being presented to the media of people being released from the facilities, cured, are falling short when investigated. We have no proof.”

“Make proof.”

“Of course, but how?”

Castiel closed his eyes and summoned patience before answering. “Use your own people. Have them appear infected and take them. Allow a suitable amount of time to pass before releasing them, cured, into circulation again. Use your media to report it. They belong to you, don’t they?”

“Only some of them,” the president said quietly, as if ashamed of the admission.

Castiel couldn’t imagine how it must feel to lead when there was resistance. There was none in Heaven. All angels bowed to him now where they had once hunted him. In the days of the apocalypse, when he had been working against the plan with that fool Crowley, he’d had a high price on his head and all angels had been willing to claim it with his life. After the end was averted, when Michael and Lucifer were trapped, when Raphael was killed, they had pledged their allegiance to him and never faltered again. 

“Try harder,” he said.

The president bowed his head obediently. “Yes, Castiel, of course. We have another problem though. The hospitals and institutions are filling faster than we can transfer them out. Our compounds in Colorado and Nevada are almost at capacity. We are preparing one in New Mexico, but when that fills, we’re going to have a serious issue.”

Castiel shrugged. “Then kill them.”

“Kill them!” The president’s eyes widened. “We can’t!”

Castiel narrowed his eyes. “You can if I say you can. Though…” He considered. Heaven wasn’t filling up, it never could, but the souls were also becoming infected, and he didn’t need more victims there to be monitored. “We can send them to Hell,” he said decisively. “Crowley can take care of them.”

The president loosened his tie and said, “I cannot sanction the murder of Americans, Castiel.”

“Don’t you have the death penalty?”

“In some states, yes, but that’s for criminals.”

“What is a criminal if not a threat to society? The infected are a threat. They are spreading.”

The president seemed to be gaining some semblance of strength as he rose to his feet and approached Castiel. He’d never shown this much backbone before, and Castiel was grudgingly impressed.

“There is no proof that the infection is contagious or hereditary. It shows no sign of spreading through contact or family lines. We cannot even prove that it is medical.”

“No,” Castiel said. “It might not be medical, but that does not lessen the danger they pose. This situation is slipping out of control. We have not seen the late stages of the illness yet; it could be that they will die of it. By killing them early, you could be saving them a painful end of madness and despair.”

“Or we could be killing them before we have a chance to save them.”

“Yes,” Castiel agreed. “You could.” 

The president shook his head briskly. “I cannot allow innocent Americans to be killed because they’re ill. That’s not how we act here. It’s not…”

Castiel raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Constitutional?”

“Exactly.”

Castiel sighed. “If you do not do this, I will have you replaced. I have always respected the sheep’s right to elect their own leaders, but an angel would make a more effective leader than you. Bartholomew would be an ideal candidate. You must decide what you value more—your own life or the lives of your infected electorate.”

The president took a step back and muttered. “I don’t think we need to resort to threats.”

Castiel leaned forward and spoke in a menacing whisper. “It’s only a threat if you don’t plan to follow through. I never threatened Raphael. I made a decision and I stuck to it. You may remember that I saved the world then. I am making that decision to save America. You should be grateful. Now, are you going to obey or are you going to die?”

“I apologize,” he said, holding up his hands and bowing his dead. “I shall of course take the action necessary to protect my people.”

Castiel smiled. “I knew you would. Now, I think this meeting is finished. Between the two of us, we have come up with an actionable plan. It’s time to pass that along to the other world leaders. And don’t worry, I will make sure you’re given due credit. I can count on your support with the British Prime Minister, I presume. You know how squeamish they can be.”

“Of course,” he muttered. “You can rely on me Castiel.”

Castiel swept towards the door, preparing to meet with the other sheep leaders and pass along his decree, and then he turned as he heard a squawk of surprise and then a heavy thud. The president was face down on the thickly carpeted floor and two people were standing over him. One was a woman with rich red hair wearing a deep blue fitted dress and the other looked little more than a child. The look was misleading though. Castiel could sense great power from him, more power, perhaps, than he’d had at the height of his strength when carrying the souls of Purgatory.

Castiel drew his blade, whether to attack or defend he wasn’t sure, but the powerful child was unarmed. He walked toward him, a strange look of sadness in his eyes.

“We’re not here to hurt you,” he said, walking forward slowly with his palms extended towards Castiel.

“So please don’t hurt us,” the woman added.

“Who are you,” Castiel asked.

“I’m Jack. I’m your son.”

Despite his shock, Castiel laughed. He had no son. He could have no son. He’d never lowered himself to intimacy with a human, and no nephilim would have been allowed to live. They were abominations.

“You really are,” the woman said. “I know it sounds like a bad eighties movie, but it was your very own version of Three Men and A Little Nephilim.”

Castiel took a step backward, feeling almost scared for the first time since he’d faced Michael and Lucifer, and the child moved closer.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I just want to show you something.”

“Show me what?” Castiel asked.

“Just this.”

The child took three long strides until he was within touching distance of Castiel and then he pressed his hands to Castiel’s head and Castiel cried out as his head was stormed with pain and a rush of images and sounds. They barely passed for a split second, but it was a lifetime of memories, and it made him want to scream. There was so much pain and suffering in them, but also great happiness and relief. Something dislodged in his mind and he saw them for what they were.

“Enough,” he panted, wrenching himself free and staggering back a step. “I see it, Jack, I know.”

Jack looked hopefully at him and Rowena peered hopefully around his shoulder. “You see?” he asked.

Castiel nodded. “I see. Oh… I see it all.” His voice was a moan, and Jack’s look of hope became one of sympathy.

He became aware of a hand banging on the door and a voice calling, “Mr. President? Castiel? Is everything okay in there?”

“Is that door locked?” Rowena asked nervously.

“Yes,” Castiel said.

“That’s good, but can we get out of here. I’ve already expressed the desire to not be shot today.”

“Yes,” Jack said. “Come on.”

He grabbed Rowena’s arm and then froze as there was the sound of a gunshot and the door flew open, the lock smoking. Three black suited men rushed in, guns raised, and Rowena shouted, “Now Jack!”

Jack dropped her arm and held out his hand. There was a pulse of energy and the men were thrown backwards, their guns flying from their hands. Even as they hit the floor, their places were taken by more armed men and Rowena cried out in shock.

Jack grabbed Castiel’s arm and Rowena’s and they disappeared just as a gunshot rang out and Rowena screamed.


	4. Chapter 4

** _Chapter Four_ **

Castiel looked around and saw they were in the bunker library, though it looked different to the place he’d left. It was too tidy, too neat, and there were no signs that any of his family belonged there. He took it in, his ears still ringing with the voices he’d heard when Jack had filled his mind with memories, and he didn’t immediately hear the voices around him until Rowena broke through his shock.

“Healing! Now!” she said stridently. “Come on, you blithering idiots, I’m bleeding!” 

Castiel saw she was bleeding from her right arm, close to her shoulder and he quickly took her unharmed arm and helped her into a chair.

“Great! Now I’m comfy,” she said with a shrill laugh. “I’m bleeding out, but at least I’m sitting down. It’ll put me closer to the floor when I pass out. Very thoughtful of you, Castiel.”

Castiel examined the wound, checking for an exit, and was pleased to find one.

“What are you waiting for?” she asked.

“I don’t want to trap a bullet in the wound,” he said. “It will cause problems for you later. It went right through.”

“What a relief,” she said sarcastically. “I wouldn’t want a bullet trapped inside when I bleed to death.”

Castiel laid his hand over her arm and light glowed under his palm, knitting together flesh and skin. When the healing was complete, he stepped back and said, “You’ll be fine.”

Rowena rolled her shoulder and plucked at the bloody cloth of her sleeve. “But my dress is ruined. If you had been a little quicker, Jack, I needn’t have been shot at all. Thankfully I was shot by the only Secret Service agent with bad aim.”

“I will get you something to wear,” Jack said.

Rowena scoffed. “If you think I am wearing anything belonging to you, you’re even more demented that I thought.”

“Mary would have left things,” Castiel said distractedly. 

“And she’s the height of style! Even if there was anything of hers here, I would sooner wear bloodstains. I have clean clothes. I never travel without. I’ve learned from a life on the run that you always need to be prepared for a quick exit.”

Castiel looked away and closed his eyes. His mind was reeling with horror, and she was complaining about limited fashion choices. Did she not understand the situation they were in? The world was spiraling into devastation.

“You’re bleeding, Cas,” Jack said softly.

Castiel looked up. “What?”

Jack touched the spot below his own nose, and Castiel imitated him, feeling the warm wetness on his upper lip. He wiped it away and said, “It doesn’t matter. We don’t have long.”

“Until what?” Rowena asked. “Actually, hold that thought. I want to change into something a little less macabre before I hear about how the world is ending and why you threatened to kill the president.”

Castiel flinched. “You heard that?”

“Yes, but not a lot else,” Jack said. “What was it about?”

Rowena rose to her feet and picked up a bag from the table. “That can wait.” She tottered away on her spiked heels and out of sight along the hall.

“What’s going on, Cas?” Jack asked. “What’s wrong with you?”

“I’m infected.”

Jack’s eyes widened. “Infected with what?”

Castiel shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters! Let me help you.”

He touched Castiel’s forehead, and though light gleamed under his hand, there was no warmth of healing, just as Castiel knew there wouldn’t be. He had tried to heal this before. There was nothing that could be done. He was as doomed as any other person that fell to the outbreak. 

“Why isn’t it working?” Jack asked, pressing his hand to Castiel’s forehead harder.

Castiel pushed his hand down and patted it. “This cannot be healed, Jack. We’ve tried.”

Jack frowned and then a look of fear crossed his face. “Are you dying?”

“I don’t know. We’ve not seen it progress that far yet. It’s relatively new. It was…” He shook his head. “I don’t know how long it was, how long I was there. I don’t even understand where there is.”

“It was Rowena,” Jack said, a bite of anger in his voice. “She did this.”

“Not entirely,” Rowena said, coming back into the room in a clean green dress and matching heels. “Technically Sam and Dean have part of the blame, as do you, Castiel. I was just trying to do right by the son that you all got killed.” 

“Sam and Dean!” Castiel said with dawning horror. “Where are they?”

“You don’t know?” Rowena asked. “We were relying on you to tell us.”

“They weren’t the vessels in this world?” Jack asked, his hands curling into fists and his eyes hopeful.

“No,” Castiel said. “I don’t think so. It’s all so confused.” He closed his eyes and sifted through his memories for signs of Sam and Dean. “No. Nick and Adam were the vessels. I don’t think I ever saw Sam and Dean.”

Jack sighed with relief and his hands relaxed. “Good.”

“Yes, that’s wonderful,” Rowena said. “But that doesn’t explain where they are or what they’re doing. What exactly is happening in that world? Or is it this world, still?”

“It’s this world,” Jack said. “Their stuff isn’t back. It looks the same as when I woke up.”

Rowena nodded. “Okay, so getting Castiel back on this side didn’t fix it. I guess it was a long shot. Well, if you two would like to drop me off in New York again, I will get on with my part of it while you save the world.”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Jack said harshly.

Rowena closed her eyes and said, “I know you’re feeling all that wonderful joy right now that two of your dads aren’t rotting in the Cage, but my son is waiting out there, and I want my reunion before you two knuckleheads find a way to fix things.”

“We need you!” Jack said.

“Yes, you do,” a smooth voice said. “But she has time for a little family reunion. I have a feeling we need one. If she doesn’t get what she wants, she’s just going to do something else equally stupid. Let her say goodbye.”

Castiel and Jack turned to face the newcomer, but Rowena merely closed her eyes and cursed.

“Billie!” Castiel said.

“Hello, Castiel. Long time no see. How have you been?” She narrowed her eyes and looked him up and down. “Not well, I see. You’re sickening.”

“Sickening with what?” Jack asked.

Billie sauntered forward and looked from face to face then said, “Knowledge. Castiel, would you like to share what you know? You have on the ground experience of it, after all.”

Castiel stood placidly as he shared his story instead of squirming under the uncomfortable gaze of the being that he had killed, precipitating her promotion to Death. “There is a sickness spreading throughout Heaven and Earth. People are losing their minds. It starts with nosebleeds, then bleeding from the eyes. Soon after, insanity takes over, and they’re lost completely. We have found no medical explanation, and there is no link between victims. They just…”

“Go guano?” Billie asked. “That’s a succinct analogy that Dean would have chosen. Yes, the madness is spreading, but there is a link.” She fixed her eyes on Rowena. “That spell you did was far more than just jigsaw pieces being lost and forced into the wrong place; it caused more damage than even you know. You tore through the universe, saving lives that should not have been saved, causing deaths that should not have been. And there is a fracture in those minds. People that don’t belong are seeing through the cracks, and that’s too much for a human soul to handle. It’s destroying them. The madness is a sickening of the soul.” She glanced at Castiel. “It won’t kill them, unfortunately. It will cost them something far worse than their lives. They will suffer so much more.”

“But Castiel is bleeding,” Jack said. “And he doesn’t have a soul.”

“No, he doesn’t,” she agreed. “It’s his grace that is sickening, and that will make him the most dangerous of all. He will be an angel with knowledge and power outstripping any human, and he will be insane. Can you imagine the damage he can do?”

“Lock me up,” Castiel said. “Kill me. Stop me!”

“Tempting as that is, the world as it will be is probably going to need you. That period of peace you were enjoying will only last so long, and then the Winchesters will need their warrior angel by their side to help them.”

“Then what do we do?” Jack asked.

Billie narrowed her eyes. “Is that new sense of urgency for the world’s madness or your fathers?”

“Does it matter?” Jack asked.

Billie sneered. “And in that I have my answer. You really _are_ a Winchester with all of their emotional dependencies. There is something you can do, but it won’t be easy. It requires a spell to be undone. For that you need four specific ingredients. The blood of the righteous man, blood of the purified, blood of the tainted divine, and the grace of an angel.” She looked at Castiel. “We only require a touch from you. I wouldn’t want you to be weakened and useless again. Like I say, they’re going to need you.”

“Righteous man? Tainted divine? What does that mean?” Jack asked.

“Your family and yourself,” Billie said. “Castiel can explain the specifics. I don’t have the time or inclination.” She reached into the pocket of her long coat and extracted two pieces of folded paper. She handed them to Castiel and said, “Here is the spell and where you will find Sam and Dean. You might hesitate when you find them, but remember this is not for them. They will sicken with it and fall sooner or later. Perhaps later as they have strength of will, but this life isn’t really theirs.”

“What does that mean?” Castiel asked. “Why would we hesitate?”

She smiled slightly. “You’ll see. Now, Rowena. If you want to see your son, come with me. Don’t you hesitate either. As soon as the ingredients are assembled, they will need you for the spell. Take the chance while you can.”

Rowena looked stricken. “I can’t take him back with me?”

“No, you can’t. This is your chance to say goodbye. You should be grateful I am allowing you that. After what you did, I should do far worse.”

Rowena swallowed. “Okay. Thank you.”

“Don’t hesitate,” Billie said, fixing her eyes on Castiel for a moment, and then she and Rowena disappeared.

Castiel unfolded the pieces of paper and looked down at the spell. He thought it would pose no problem. They had all the ingredients they needed in the bunker except for the blood and grace, and they would be able to get that. He checked the other piece of paper and sighed.

“What?” Jack asked. “Where are they?”

“Dean is in Lawrence,” Castiel said. “We’ll find him at Winchester and Son Repairs and Restorations.”

“Winchester and Son?” Jack asked.

“Yes. I believe one of the puzzle pieces that Billie mentioned is Sam and Dean’s father. Perhaps Mary, too.”

Jack gasped. “But that means we have to…”

Castiel nodded. “Billie said it would be hard.”

“Yeah, but it’s Dean’s father.”

“It is,” Castiel agreed. “And that makes me wonder. If a puzzle piece for Dean is his father, what is Sam going to have?” He sighed. “What are they both going to lose?”


	5. Chapter 5

** _Chapter Five_ **

“John? Dean? Are you here?”

Dean pulled his head out from under the hood of the Chevy he was working on and smiled as his mother came through the open door into the garage. “Hey, Mom.”

She beamed at him. “Hey, sweetie. Where’s your father?”

Dean nodded toward the small office. “In there on the phone with Bobby Singer. We’ve got a ’69 Mustang GT coming in, and the exhaust is pretty much in shreds. Dad’s seeing if Singer’s got one we can replace it with. It’ll be cheaper than going to Brookes.”

“It sure will,” Mary said.

Bobby Singer charged a fair price for parts and they did him favors in return with the work he needed doing on the more modern cars that he didn’t have equipment for. Dave Brookes charged the earth because he knew they’d pay if they came to him as he knew that when they did, it was their last resort. He was basically an asshole, but he had good parts, and they often needed them for restorations.

John tried to deal with him instead of sending Dean, as they had a difficult relationship and Dean struggled to keep his temper with the smug man. John had a better handle on his temper. He and Mary, so different, balanced each other perfectly. Mary could be gentle and was always kind to those that deserve it, and John had fire in his veins that ignited when it was needed. On the rare occasions that he saw it, Dean thought his father could have ended up a very different man if his life had taken a different path. Luckily for them all, it hadn’t. He always said he was happy with his life with Mary and Dean. The only regret he ever admitted to was that their family was a small one. He’d liked the idea of Dean having a brother or sister, but it had never happened.

It had never troubled Dean that he was an only child, he’d been happy and never felt that he was missing out on anything, but recently he thought a lot about how it would have been to have a sibling to share big moments with. It was always a brother he thought of, younger; maybe three or four years. Dean would have been able to take care of him, show him the ropes of life and watch him grow up. He thought he would have made an awesome big brother. He had a kid he helped through the Big Brothers, Big Sisters of America scheme, a teenager called Adam, and he was a great kid, but it wasn’t the same. 

“How’s your morning been?” Mary asked.

“Good,” Dean said, though in truth he was a little hungover after an interesting night spent in the Stag Head Bar and Grill where he’d gotten to know a divorcee celebrating the end of her marriage. It had been a fun time that had culminated in Dean making her breakfast in his apartment after a night of really getting to know her. He had a feeling they would be seeing each other again.

“You father forgot his lunch, and I figured I’d bring something for you, too. Save you needing to get a burger from Frankie’s again.”

Dean forced a smile. “Thanks, Mom. That’s really thoughtful.”

She laughed. “And you almost sounded sincere. You may be a grown man, but I can still fix you lunches. Besides, you need to take care of your heart. You’re forty now.”

Dean groaned. “Thanks for that reminder. I was having a good day, too.”

Mary patted his cheek. “Age is just a number, Dean, as long as you’re happy and healthy.”

“I am,” Dean said with a smile, his eyes roving over the shelf holding his State Champion trophies from high school and college for wrestling. The softball trophies they had won in his and John’s softball team, and the kids’ team he coached, were all kept in the club house.

He knew his life wasn’t all she wanted for him; she’d have liked grandchildren, but things had never worked out that way for Dean. And he really was happy. He had no need for anything else.

“Good.”

She turned and smiled as the office door opened and John strode out, a beaming smile in place and his arms open to Mary. She kissed his cheek, careful not to touch his greasy overalls, but he swept her up into his arms and spun her, making her shriek about getting dirty, though Dean knew she didn’t mind really. He loved these moments. His parents could be apart only hours and yet they reunited as if it had been days. 

John set Mary down and took the proffered lunch sacks. He looked at them both and said, “Thanks, hon, but I’m not _that_ hungry.”

Mary laughed, “One’s for Dean, you greedy man. I thought I would save him from a heart attack.”

“Maybe,” John said. “But you might be opening him up to food poisoning instead.”

Mary punched his arm. “I’m not that bad a cook, and even I can make sandwiches without killing anyone.”

John raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? I can’t run the garage alone. That boy we raised comes in handy.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Gee, thanks, Dad.”

“Neither of you are getting sick from my lunches,” Mary said sternly and then her eyes focused on the poster taped to the door under the garage sign and she sighed.

The poster had been delivered the week before by a grim-faced sheriff with instructions that all businesses were required to display one now. It listed the symptoms to be watchful for: unexplained bleeding from the nose or eyes, confusion and shortened attention spans. It was all the signs of whatever strange sickness was spreading across the country—maybe the world. The news stations didn’t report on it apart from encouraging people to report symptoms directly to the helpline, and to inform people that they should be prepared to present themselves for treatment in a specialized government center.

Mary was more worried than either of them about the outbreak as she had seen a case of a woman being taken by a military ambulance. John explained it as the regular ambulances needing to be used for actual emergencies, not this strange virus, but it made Dean uneasy, too. There was a lot of coverage in the media about the beginning of the illness, the symptoms to look for and what to do if you’re infected, but there was almost nothing about the centers that treated the illness or what happened to the people who were being taken to them.

“None of us are getting sick from anything, Mary,” John said, following her gaze and noting the focus of her attention as he put his arm around her and hugged her to his side. “We’ll all be fine. This thing is going to blow over. It’s like that Swine Flu thing that happened. That was all a fuss over nothing, too.”

“People weren’t getting carted off with swine flu,” Mary said darkly.

“But they were dying,” John pointed out. “And there hasn’t been a single death reported from whatever this is.”

“Maybe they’re just not allowed to talk about it,” Mary said.

John sighed. “You’ve been on those conspiracy sites again, haven’t you? They’re just a bunch of internet crazies getting hot under their tin hats and spouting off. It’s nothing you need to worry about. Now, let’s see what you’ve brought me.” He opened his lunch sack and said, “Great. A sandwich, a Twinkie, _and_ chips. You’re spoiling me.”

Mary’s tense jaw relaxed and she said, “That one’s Dean’s. You’ve got celery and an apple.”

John’s face fell. “You’re kidding.”

Mary laughed softly. “I am. You can both have something a little special just this once.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact you’ve not been to the store and so don’t actually have anything healthy in the pantry?” John asked.

“Not at all. It’s because I was too busy reading articles from my tin hat friends to prepare something better.”

Her smile took the heat from her words and John kissed her.

“You’re a good wife and mother,” he said.

“I’m the best wife and mother,” she corrected. “And now I’m going to leave you both to get back to work so I can get to the store and get us some stuff for dinner. You want to come over, too, Dean?”

“Sure,” Dean said distractedly, he was listening to the sounds of the street. They seemed agitated and excited.

He started towards the door and then stopped as two people appeared. One was a kid with a serious look on his face that contradicted his dewey-eyed appearance of innocence. The other was familiar but even more unexpected than if Robert Plant himself had just arrived and asked Dean to come to a singalong.

“Castiel!” Mary gasped.

“Hello, Mary,” the angel said. “John.”

Mary clapped her hand to her chest. “You know our names.”

Dean stepped closer to his mother and father, moving defensively in front of them. He had no idea what Castiel, Savior of the World and general dick was doing there, but he had a feeling it was nothing good.

Unlike the masses that worshipped him, Dean wasn’t a fan of Castiel’s. He appreciated that he’d saved the world, of course, but he thought he was an arrogant ass who thought too highly of himself. In the days immediately after the apocalypse was averted, Castiel had a huge media presence—even more than the almost constant coverage he got now—and he seemed less interested in the humans he’d saved than Dean would be stepping around an anthill. The general consensus among Dean and his friends was that Castiel had stopped the archangels, trapping two and killed the other, because he was on some power trip, not because he wanted to protect humanity. Dean believed that Castiel would be the kid that stomped on the ant hill just to see it collapse.

“Got a car needs fixing?” Dean asked him.

“No,” Castiel said solemnly, almost sadly. “I need to speak to you.”

“You’ll have to make an appointment,” Dean said. “We’re busy.”

“Dean!” Mary hissed.

The angel walked forward and reached for Dean, ignoring John’s shouts of, “Hey! What are you doing? Leave him alone!”

Dean tried to pull back but Castiel gripped his arm tightly and he felt a lurch in his stomach. He’d never experienced it before, but he’d seen enough of it happening on TV to guess that this was what it felt like to fly.

And he was worried. Where was Castiel taking him and what did he want?


	6. Chapter 6

** _Chapter Six_ **

Dean yanked himself free as soon as they came to a stop and looked around the vast room he’d found himself in, breathing hard. It was like some kind of crazy library without windows and less bookshelves. It looked dated, too, like something out of the forties movies his mom liked to watch.

“Dean,” Castiel said, his voice clearly designed to be soothing. “Calm down. No one is going to hurt you.”

“How do you know my name?” he asked, then dismissed the question. Castiel, angel and savior, probably knew everything. He certainly acted like he did. “What am I doing here? What do you want from me?”

“We just want to show you the truth,” the kid said reaching for him. “Let me…”

“Keep your hands to yourself!” Dean snapped.

He reached into the small of his back, searching for the gun that wasn’t here. There was none there, there never had been, and the fact he’d never fired a gun in his life meant nothing. He was pretty sure he could work it out, and he wouldn’t kill anyone. He’d just shoot their kneecaps out and make a run for it. He didn’t know if that would work on an angel, but he was willing to find out. The violent train of thought was strange to him as he had never been a violent man in his life, but this wasn’t his usual life. Nothing like this had ever happened to him before. He was a mechanic from Lawrence, Kansas, who had lived a mostly peaceful life, but he was pushed to the limit by this, being snatched away by this dick, and he was going to defend himself.

The kid stepped closer and reached for Dean again, making him jerk back until he hit something hard. He reached behind him without taking his eyes from Castiel and the kid and felt the smooth wooden surface of a table.

“We don’t want to hurt you, Dean,” Castiel said, “But you have to see. This is important.”

“I’m sure it’s real important to you, but I don’t care about angel crap. I don’t want—”

The kid lurched forward, and with a muttered apology, spun Dean around and pulled his wrist up behind him. Dean struggled, but the kid was damn strong, too strong to be human. Dean felt a warm hand press against his forehead and then a spear of pain in his head as images, voices and heat flooded his mind.

He saw a baby in a crib and fire; he saw a grungy motel room and his father, younger than the one Dean had just left, loading guns into a green duffel; he saw a young man standing with a beautiful woman beside him, confusion on her face and worry on the man’s. The images came faster and the voices grew louder. He heard his name spoken again and again, by the young man he’d seen, by Castiel and the kid that was touching him. The young man’s face came again and again, slowly changing with age, and his voice filled Dean’s ears. He saw monsters old—Lucifer and Michael’that he had only seen on the news before—and new, with strange teeth and clawed hands. The last image was Castiel, the kid and that man, no longer young, sitting around a table and laughing; Dean heard himself laughing with them.

The hand fell from his temple and Dean staggered away his lungs working like bellows, “Sammy,” he panted. “Where is he?”

“You remember?” Jack asked.

Dean nodded and worked on getting his breaths under control. “Yeah, Jack, I remember it all. Where is he?”

“We haven’t seen him yet,” Castiel said. “We have an address though.”

Dean ran a hand over his face, his breaths calming. “What happened?” He looked between them. “What did you do?”

“It wasn’t us,” Jack said defensively. “It was Rowena. She did a spell. It went wrong. It’s… You’re bleeding.”

Dean swiped a hand under his nose and checked his palm. It bore a smear of blood. “Okay, what’s that about?” he asked. “That’s part of Rowena’s screw up, right?”

Castiel nodded. “Yes. The spell dislodged people’s paths. Some that should be dead are alive; some that should be alive are dead. Others are just in the wrong lives. It’s damaging their souls which is presenting as the infection.”

“And it’s making them sick?”

“It’s making them insane,” Castiel said. “Bleeding and confusion are just the first symptoms.”

“And these ‘centers’ people are being taken to?” Dean growled.

“Military installations and asylums,” Castiel said. “They’re being gathered and imprisoned. And…” He sighed. “And soon they will be killed.”

Dean’s head snapped around to him so fast his neck popped. “What the hell? Whose genius idea was that?””

Castiel bowed his head. “Mine.”

“Seriously, Cas? I knew you were a dick as a savior, but what were you thinking?”

“I didn’t know the truth,” Castiel said. “I was just as consumed in this life as you were. I had no idea what had happened. I was dealing with the outbreak and the threat to humanity the only way I—in that state of mind—could think of. I was wrong. Which is why we have to act fast. We don’t have long before the orders are passed on and people begin to die. We left the president unconscious, which will only make him more frightened of me. He will pass on my orders as soon as he’s able. We have a plan though. Billie said there is a spell that can reverse what Rowena did. We still need Sam’s blood to complete it. You are needed as the Righteous Man, Jack’s as a nephilim, my grace, and Sam as the purified man. We have to act now. I have already bled, I’m infected, and now you are, too. There’s not much time for us to act.”

Dean raked his hands through his hair. “Okay. Let’s go get him.”

Jack took a piece of paper from his pocket and read it. “He’s in California.”

“I can take us,” Castiel said, taking the piece of paper from Jack and reading it. “I have my wings in this world.”

Dean scoffed. “That’s great. The world is going to hell, sick people are being locked up and soon they’ll start being killed, but you’ve got wings.”

Castiel flinched and Dean was about to apologize but they were already moving.

They came to a stop at the end of a suburban street. Lawns were tended and sprinklers jetted water over them. The houses were freshly painted and the cars on the drives were all new models. It was the kind of place Sam would once have belonged, and that gave Dean the first sense of unease. He had no time to explore the thought as an SUV drove past them and came to a stop outside a house a hundred yards down the street. The door opened, and Dean gasped as Jessica climbed out.

She was older than she had been when Dean saw her, but just as beautiful. She looked a little distracted, as if there was something on her mind, but no less happy than she had been when Dean had first seen her in the djinn-induced dream, when she’d been living her perfect life with Sam.

Dean moved closer as she opened the back door and helped a child out of its seat. It was a little boy that looked around four. He had his mother’s blonde hair and Sam’s dimples. If not for the hair, he could have been Sam at that age. Jessica said something and he bounced toward the door and stood on tiptoes to press the doorbell as Jessica went to the trunk. The door opened and Sam appeared on the doorstep. He was wearing jeans and a grey sweater, the kind of clothes he would only wear when undercover on a hunt, and he looked happy.

He swept the kid up in his arms and said, “Hey, buddy. You have fun at the store with Momma?”

“No candy,” the kid said. “Even though I was good.”

“No candy!” Sam said, sounding scandalized. “Not even for me?”

“No, Momma said none for any of us. We got fruit.”

“Fruit is good for you,” Jessica called to them. “And neither of you are getting that unless you help me get this stuff inside before it defrosts.”

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said. “We better go help.”

The kid wriggled and Sam laughed as he set him down and followed him as he ran to his mother at the trunk.

Dean watched the family tableau, his heart in his throat and his eyes pricking. Sam had a kid. It was more than just Jessica and this life he longed for, a nice home, probably a good career; he had a family, too, a son. He’d called him Dean.

Dean had forgotten he wasn’t alone, and it wasn’t until Jack spoke, making him start, that he realized he was here to do more than witness.

“What do we do?” Jack asked. “We can’t just take him.”

“No,” Castiel agreed. “We will have to be more subtle this time. We can’t upset the child.”

“We can’t do it at all,” Dean said, not even aware of what he was going to say until he said it. “We can’t take this away from him.”

“Dean…” Castiel said sadly.

“No!” Dean said harshly. “This is Sammy’s dream. This is Jess. He has a family, a life, the woman he loves. I can’t take him away from her again.”

“People are going to die, Dean,” Jack said. “I think we have to.”

Dean shook his head. “We’ll find another way.”

“But he will lose them anyway,” Castiel said. “We have to do this spell, and they will be gone.”

Dean pressed his fingers to his temples. “I can’t do this to him again, Cas.”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer, but Jack gasped and said. “Look! Sam!”

Dean’s eyes snapped to his brother and he saw Sam was looking right at him. His lips were parted and his face pale. The kid was tugging on his arm, but Sam didn’t seem to notice. He was wholly focused on Dean. Dean took an automatic step forward, his brother’s name on his lips, and then he froze as he saw the trickle of blood slipping down from Sam’s nose.

“It’s happening, Dean,” Castiel said. “Look! He’s infected. We have to do it now. We don’t know how long you and I have before it’s too late for us to do it for ourselves. We will lose our minds, too.”

Dean nodded wordlessly, knowing Castiel was right but hating it. He had no choice. Sam was as doomed as he was, and he was going to lose Jessica and his son no matter what happened. Dean felt sick at the idea he was the one that was going to be taking it from Sam once again.

“Just give him a minute,” he said dully. “Let him have a little longer with them then we’ll go get him.”

Just one more minute of Sam’s dream.


	7. Chapter 7

** _Chapter Seven_ **

Sam was content to be home. He loved the rush he felt at work, and the only thing better than being in a courtroom was being home with his family. He had just finished a big case, so he had a few days to spend time with them, and he was going to make the most of them.

Jessica had taken Dean to the store for groceries, and when they got home, Sam was going to pack away his paperwork and get out in the yard to play ball with his son. He thought they would get a sitter that evening so he and Jessica could go out to dinner together. That felt like the perfect way to spend his time off.

He and Jessica were older parents than most of Dean’s friends, not for any reason other than that nature had blessed them late. It had given them both time to accept the chance that they might not be parents at all and to build their careers. Jessica had excelled in her work as a public defender, and Sam had earned a partnership his firm of defense lawyers. When Jessica had gotten pregnant, they’d both reassessed their lives. Sam had offered to quit work to raise their child so Jessica could continue to work, but she’d decided she would rather stay home to take care of him. She was a natural nurturer and had, as far as Sam knew, never questioned her choice. Now Dean was in Pre-K she was giving a few hours a week to a charity that advised low-income families on their legal rights. 

Their life was pretty much perfect as it was, though they were trying for another baby. Jessica didn’t want Dean to be an only child forever, and Sam was more than happy to add to their family. He had been an only child and, though his parents had been great, he’d always wished he had a brother or sister to play with. He’d liked the idea of a little sister to take care of, or an older brother to take care of him. It had never happened, but he saw the benefits of siblings through Jessica who’d grown up in a big family. 

He set down his pen and took a sip of coffee, his ear pricking as he thought he heard the sound of the car pulling onto the drive. He got to his feet and made for the door in time for the bell to ring. He opened the door and he saw Dean on the stoop, his face bright with childish excitement.

Sam swept him into his arms and said, “Hey, Buddy. You have fun at the store with Momma?”

Dean was a generally content kid, and Jessica made any trips to the store an adventure for him, letting him choose between brands for what they were going to buy. He also loved talking, and the many strangers and familiar faces were treated to his charm and chatter when he met them. Jessica sometimes said he learned to talk at twelve months and no one had found the off switch yet.

“No candy,” Dean said, his mouth turning down and his lips pouting, though Sam could tell he wasn’t really upset. “Even though I was good.”

“No candy!” Sam said, his eyes wide and voice theatrically shocked. “No even for me?”

Dean shook his head, and there was a slight smugness in his face as he recognized that Sam had shared his dire, deprived fate.

“No. Momma said none for any of us. We got fruit.”

“Fruit is good for you,” Jessica called to them from the back of the SUV where she was unloading the bags. “And neither of you are getting that unless you help me get this stuff inside before it defrosts.”

“Come on, Dean,” Sam said. “We better go help.”

Dean wriggled and Sam set him down laughing, following at a more sedate pace as Dean ran towards his mother.

When he reached her, he kissed Jessica’s cheek, though she was focused on balancing the bags in her arms, and said, “Did you have fun?”

Jessica stepped nimbly away as he tried to kiss her again, though her eyes shone with happiness, and said, “I had a good time with my favorite guy. And don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. No amount of kisses are getting you candy.”

Dean laughed and pointed gleefully at Sam. “I’m her _favorite._”

Sam put a hand to his chest. “No! You can’t be. She told me I was.”

Dean shook his head. “Nu-huh. It’s me.”

“You’re my equal favorites,” Jessica said. “Now help me.”

Sam took one of the bags out of her hands and then another from the trunk as Jessica took a bottle of milk and a bunch of bananas out of one and handed them to Dean who hefted them high and carried them toward the house.

“He was okay?” Sam asked.

“Good as gold.”

“No candy?” Sam asked.

Jessica grinned. “I slipped some Sour Patch Kids past him at the register that I’ll give him later. I just didn’t want him thinking the store means candy every time.”

She slammed the trunk and smile as Dean came bouncing out again.

Sam turned and made for the house then stopped as he saw a strange sight a little down the street. Castiel himself was standing with two men, one younger and the older looking pale and shocked.

The incongruity and surprise of seeing Castiel outside the TV registered in Sam’s mind as a mild surprise; it was the pale man that had his attention. He was so familiar. Sam felt he knew him, though he was also certain that he’d never seen him before in his life.

Something about him tugged at Sam’s mind, making him feel dizzy and disconcerted. Dean started pulling his arm, but Sam barely noticed as the man took a step forward, his lips parting. Sam felt the urge to go to him, too, and then he was snapped back to his setting; there was something warm and wet trickling over his top lip. His heart froze and then began to race. He was _bleeding._

He quickly turned away and went into the house with Dean hanging on his arm and Jessica ahead of him. She was talking, but Sam wasn’t hearing the words. He set the bags down just inside the door and rushed into the small bathroom and slammed the door. He heard Jessica calling to him, asking what was wrong, but he couldn’t answer.

He looked in the mirror above the basin and saw that he was just as shocked looking as the man outside had been, and there was a thin line of blood under his nose. He turned the faucet and wiped at his face with wet hands, washing away the blood, then blotting it dry with a towel. The flow had ceased as fast as it had come, but he could still feel the phantom blood there.

There was a knock on the door and Jessica called, “Sam, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

Sam opened the door and went out into the hall. Jessica looked worried as Sam turned in a spot, taking in his home with a vague gaze and racing mind.

If it was just bleeding, he could excuse it as allergies and nothing more, but it wasn’t. He felt a strange splitting sensation in his mind, as if something was breaking open and slipping through that he couldn’t make sense of. It was blood. It was confusion. He knew what that meant.

Dean came into the hall and his hand slipped into Sam’s. “What’s wrong, Daddy?” he asked,

“Go watch TV,” Sam said quietly.

“I don’t wanna. I wanna play catch.”

“Not right now. I need to talk to Momma.”

Dean began to whine but Jessica spoke sharply and his face froze with shock. She was rarely if ever sharp with him. “Mind your father. Go watch your show.”

His lip trembling, Dean backed away and then ran into the living room.

“What’s wrong, Sam?”

“I’m bleeding,” Sam said.

Her lips parted and she sucked in a breath. “Did you hurt yourself?”

Sam shook his head slowly. “Nosebleed.”

“It’s just a nosebleed! You told me you had them when you were a kid all the time. It’s allergies or something like that. Maybe stress. You’re just coming down from weeks in court. You’re probably still worked up. I bet your blood pressure is really high.”

Sam stroked her cheek. “It’s not that. I can feel it, Jess. My mind is… I’m infected.”

She shook her head jerkily. “No! You can’t be. You just need rest.”

She knew as well as Sam did that he needed more than rest. She’d seen the same posters around town, the same news reports, and she knew what had to happen next.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said. “I’ve got to go.”

Jessica’s eyes filled with tears. “You can’t! I won’t let you!”

“You have to. We can’t risk me infecting you or…” His voice broke. “What about Dean?”

“Exactly, what about Dean? You can’t leave him. He won’t understand. He needs you, Sam!”

Sam walked away and into the kitchen where he took the phone that was charging on the counter and dialed the number he’d seen so many times that it was unintentionally memorized. Jessica grabbed at the phone and tried to pull it out on his hand, but Sam was stronger. He pulled her against him and held her tight as the phone rang and was picked up by a woman with a professionally neutral voice and Jessica sobbed into his neck. “_Department of Citizen Health. Are you reporting symptoms?”_

“Yes,” Sam said. “It’s me. My name is Sam Winchester. I’m at 1465 Kinston Avenue, Culver City. I am…” He drew a deep breath. “I’m infected. I’m here with my wife and son. What do I do?”

_“I will send a unit to bring you to the hospital,”_ the woman said. _“You do not need to bring anything with you. Everything will be provided. Wait outside your residence. They will be with you soon.”_

“Thank you,” Sam said dully, dropping the phone down onto the counter and wrapping both arms around his shaking wife. “I’m sorry.”

“You shouldn’t have done that,” she moaned. “They’re going to take you away.”

“To a hospital for help,” Sam said. “They’re going to help me. I will be home before you even have a chance to miss me.” He lifted her chin and kissed her firmly on the mouth. “It’ll be okay.”

Fresh tears pooled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks when she blinked. “We don’t know that. No one is talking about being cured yet. Do you know anyone that has come home from one of those places? Do you know anyone that was allowed a visitor?”

“I don’t know anyone else infected,” Sam said. “There’s probably loads of people that are already home now.” He kissed her again. “I’ve got to see Dean.”

He gently extricated her fingers from where they were tangled in his sweater and walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Dean was sitting on a cushion in front of the TV, a cartoon playing that he didn’t seem to be watching.

He looked up at Sam as soon as he entered and said, “Is Momma still mad?”

“No,” Sam said, scooping him arm and hugging him, burying his face in Dean’s hair and smelling the apple shampoo they used for him and the distinctive scent that was his son. “Look, buddy, I’ve got to go away for a while.”

Dean leaned back and his wide eyes locked with Sam’s. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got a problem and there are some people that are going to help me fix it. I’ll call you and Momma as much as I can, and I’ll be home so soon.” He set his son down and said, “You have to be a big man while I’m gone and take care of your momma for me.”

Dean threw his arms around Sam’s legs and clung to him. “I don’t want you to go!”

“I know, buddy, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do. Like when Momma takes you to the doctor to get a shot. You don’t want to go and you get upset, but it’s over fast and you soon forget about it. This is just like that. You’re upset now, but it will be over soon and you’ll forget you were upset at all. I’ll be home soon.” He carefully eased his son away from him and bent to kiss his head. “Remember, you’ve got to be the big man.”

Dean stared up at him, his eyes wet and his face filled with sadness that tore at Sam’s heart. “Okay, Daddy.”

Sam smiled and ruffled his hair. “That’s my big man. Watch your show now. I just need to talk to Momma for another minute.”

Dean sat down on the cushion again and wiped a hand over his face, smearing the tears that had fallen. He looked so young sitting there, so vulnerable, that Sam felt a piece of his heart splinter away from the whole with a physical pain.

He knew he was losing his grip on his emotions, possibly his grip on reality, and he quickly turned away and walked into the hall where Jessica waited. She was still crying, but she was holding his jacket in her hands and smiling in a forced way. “Is he okay?”

“He will be,” Sam said. “I told him to take care of you. I think that’ll help him.”

“Who’s going to take care of you?” she asked.

“Doctors,” Sam said simply.

“I can’t believe this is happening. It’s not right.”

Sam hugged her and whispered into her hair. “It’s going to be fine. I’m going to be okay. I’ll call you as soon as I get wherever they’re taking me.”

He released her slowly and walked to the door. He didn’t want her to see him being taken away, so he would wait outside, leave her to take care of Dean, at least to start. They were both going to be taking care of each other for however long it took for Sam to be cured.

He opened the door and then froze. Castiel and the two men were standing on the step, Castiel’s hand raised to knock, and behind them a grey van was skidding to a stop and three armed men in grey fatigues were jumping out.

The man that looked so familiar to Sam turned and said, “No time! Now, Cas!”

Castiel took Sam’s hand even as he said, “I’m sorry, but I don’t have—” but before he could finish, the men in fatigues, the house behind him, the street in front of him, and Jessica’s worried voice were gone.

As was Sam. 


	8. Chapter 8

** _Chapter Eight_ **

When they came to a stop in the bunker’s library, Castiel released Sam, leaving him to stagger away from them, his eyes roving the room and his hands held out defensively in front of him.

“What’s happening? Where am I? What did you do?” Sam locked eyes on Castiel and he paled. “What have I done wrong? Why are you doing this to me, Castiel?”

“You’ve done nothing wrong, Sammy,” Dean said, his voice steeped in misery and his face torn with pain. “This isn’t your fault.”

Sam sucked in a sharp breath. “Who are you? How do you know me?” His hand pressed to his throat. “Are you the resistance? I don’t want to resist. Really. Just let me go and I won’t tell them anything about you. I just want to go to the hospital. I need to be cured.”

“There is no cure,” Jack said. “But we’re going to fix this.”

Sam’s voice became pleading. “I’ve got a wife and son. My wife’s name is Jessica. She needs me to come home. And my son…” A tear slipped down his cheek. “My son, Dean, is only four. He needs his father. Please, let me go. I have to get better. I have to go home.”

Dean turned away, his hand covering his face, and Jack stepped toward Sam, his face sharing the same sadness that Castiel was feeling. To see his friend like this, his raw fear and pain, to hear him talking about his family, was torture when you realized it was going to get worse. Sam was upset now, but it was going to be so much worse when he realized that the family he was so desperate to get back to was just a dream.

Sam backed away from Jack and said, “Please, just let me go home.”

Dean turned back to them and said, “Let’s get it done. I can’t… I just can’t.”

“Get what done?” Sam asked. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“No,” Castiel said, trying to make his voice soothing. “We need a little of your blood, Sam, that’s all. I know you don’t know us, and you’re scared, but we know you and we wouldn’t never hurt you.”

Dean went to the cabinet where they kept the whiskey and picked up three glasses then carried them back to the table Sam was pressed against. “We need a little blood, Sammy,” he said.

Sam flinched away from him and Dean winced.

Sam skirted sideways, his palms pressed on the table behind to guide him, and his eyes were wide with horror. His fingers brushed over the carved initials that Sam and Dean had made in the polished surface of the table, and seemingly against his will, Sam turned and looked down. His eyes fixed in the initials, the mark he and Dean had made on their place that was their home, and his pupils dilated and his face drained of all color and expression.

“He’s going down!” Dean said as Sam swayed.

He grabbed his brother’s shoulders and maneuvered a chair back with his foot to ease Sam into. Sam sank boneless into it, his back curving as he bent over and buried his face in his hands, a low moan that tore at Castiel’s heart ripping from him. It was a sound of pure misery, and Castiel thought perhaps he was in physical pain, too.

“Sammy,” Dean said, laying his hand on Sam’s back. “You’re okay.”

Sam groaned.

“Is something happening to him?” Jack asked. “Is this the infection?”

Sam looked up and Castiel saw the awful truth in his eyes before he spoke. “No, Jack,” he said. “It’s not the infection. It’s me.”

“You remember?” Dean asked, his tone neutral. 

Sam nodded and wiped at the new trickle of blood under his nose. “Yeah. I know that Jess and Dean are…” He squeezed his eyes shut, his face pained, and then looked at Dean and said, “You’ve got a way to fix this?”

Dean nodded. “We need some of your blood.”

Sam held out his hand. “Take it. Do it now. I don’t want them suffering longer than they have to. They’re still there now, scared and confused. That’s not fair. They’re be gone when you fix it, right?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” Dean murmured.

“Then get it done,” Sam said.

Castiel withdrew the paper Billie had given him with the spell on it and handed it to Dean. “Prepare the blood and other ingredients. I’ll find Rowena.”

Dean took the paper and said, “Okay, Jack, we’re going to need…”

Castiel spread his wings as Dean recited the ingredients needed, and he searched with his grace for Rowena. She was easy to find as her power was so potent. She was sitting at the bar in a restaurant in downtown New York. There was a glass of wine in front of her, but it looked untouched. Her eyes were fixed on a table in the center of the room.

She looked different; her usual choice of stylish dresses had been replaced with a grey pantsuit and she was wearing an overlarge hat that hid her face from the view of most of the restaurant.

As soon as Castiel arrived, a man a little further along the bar gasped Castiel’s name. Castiel knew that he—the self that had been created for this world—rarely came to earth since the apocalypse was averted, and only a handful of humans that were not world leaders had ever seen him outside of a news station or under the headline of a newspaper. The man was shocked, and as Castiel glanced at him he saw he was a little scared, too.

His reaction drew the attention of others among them, and Castiel’s name was whispered and gasped as the news he was there spread around the restaurant and people turned to look at him.

Castiel ignored them all and touched Rowena’s shoulder to get her attention as she was still staring across the room. “We’re ready for the spell now,” he said.

“I can’t go to him,” she whispered. “I’ve been sitting here staring at him, trying to force myself to, but I can’t do it.”

Castiel looked across the restaurant at the table where Crowley sat with two black suited men. He was engaged in conversation and oblivious to Rowena’s longing look. 

“You have to do it now if you’re doing it at all. We have Sam and Dean, and they’re both ‘infected’ too. I don’t know how long any of us have before it’s too late.”

Rowena nodded. “Come on then. Let’s get it done.”

Castiel saw her shadowed face crumple with sadness and, though he knew they were running out of time, he knew he couldn’t let her leave it like this. He grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet and called, “Crowley! Come here!”

The demon glanced at Castiel, looking surprised though Castiel knew he had been aware of his presence the moment he arrived, and dabbed his mouth with a napkin before getting to his feet and strolling towards them.

“Castiel,” he said, drawing the word out expansively. “What can I do for you? I heard through the grapevine of the powerful that you attacked the president and took off.”

“I want you to meet a friend of mine,” Castiel said, ignoring the questions. “This is—”

“Ruth!” Rowena cut in, keeping her head bowed so her face was in shadows.

“Nice to meet you, I guess, Ruth,” Crowley said, sounding confused. “It that all, Cas? I was in a meeting. Hell business.”

Castiel shook Rowena’s arm and said, “Ruth has something to say to you.”

Rowena spoke in a low voice that carried to the people around them who were all listening attentively while doing their best to look as if they weren’t. “I wanted to see you again. I didn’t have a chance to say what I needed to say before you…”

Crowley frowned. “Look, Ruth, I get that you’re a fan, and if you’ve got something you want me to sign for you, I’d be happy to do it—any friend of Cas’ is a friend of mine and all that—but I really was in an important meeting and I should get back to it.”

Rowena lifted her head, exposing her face to the light of the room and looked at her son.

Crowley stared at her, his lips parted with shock. “Mother?”

Rowena smiled sadly, “Hello, Fergus.”

“What in the hell are you doing here?” Crowley growled.

Rowena’s face fell and Castiel squeezed her arm gently. “We don’t have time, Rowena.”

“Yes, I know. Fergus…” She stared into Crowley’s thunderous face and said, “I know you hate me, and I understand why, but I need to tell you I’m sorry. I’m proud of you for what you did, what you died for, though it was bloody stupid and I would have…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I just wanted to tell you I’m sorry and that I—”

“Yeah, that’s enough for me,” Crowley snapped, cutting her off. “First off, I’m not dead, thanks, and second of all, I have managed without hearing those three words from you all my life, and I don’t want to hear them now.”

Rowena bowed her head. “Yes. Of course. I’m sorry.”

“Is that enough?” Castiel asked her, and when she nodded, he spread his wings and carried her away from the restaurant and back to the bunker.

They had been busy while he was gone. There were three glasses containing measures of blood and a copper bowl filled with herbs and powders surrounded by candles. A book of matches sat beside them, and the paper bearing the spell was under them. Sam was sitting in the same chair, a glass of whiskey on the table beside him and a look of misery of his face that was almost the twin of Dean’s. Jack was pacing back and forth, and when Castiel landed with Rowena, he gasped and said, “Good! You’re here. We got all the blood ready.”

“We need my grace,” Castiel said, drawing his blade and walking to the table where the spell ingredients were prepared.

Rowena followed him and picked up the spell. “It’s all in here?” she asked.

“Yes,” Jack said. “Did you see your son?”

Rowena’s lips quirked into a twisted smile. “Yes. It was quite the touching reunion. I think we both know how the other feels now.”

“That’s good,” Jack said, missing the sarcasm of her words and smiling at her.

“Grace, Castiel,” Rowena said, lifting the bowl and holding it up.

“I know,” Castiel said. He brought his blade to his throat and drew a deep breath before making a shallow cut and leaning over the bowl so that the grace that slipped from him with a sensation of terrible loss sank down into it. When he was confident it was enough, he wiped a hand across his throat, healing the wound and stepping back.

Rowena set the bowl down in the middle of the candles and tipped the blood from the glasses into it and chanted, _“Factum infectumque reddet, quod perdidit. Nobis donet in patria.” _

A blinding light spread from the bowl and swept over the room, slamming into them and casting darkness into their minds.

`


	9. Chapter 9

** _Epilogue _ **

** **

The blaring of Jack’s alarm dragged him from sleep, and he groaned as he rolled over and hit the button to silence it. The ear-piercing sound cut off and was replaced by the radio where a man crooned something about a woman waiting. 

For a moment, he just laid there, blinking against the sleepiness, and then he felt a rush of shock and he bolted upright.

He _knew _this. This had happened before, and then… It had been awful.

He sprung out of bed and rushed to the door, his heart in his throat at the fear of what he was going to find. He went into the hall and then stopped as Dean ambled past him calling, “Hot water’s out. Sam got in there first and spent it all on his haircare routine. I swear, I’m giving him a buzzcut next time he does this. It’s bad enough with him moulting all over the place and leaving his hairbrush wherever he likes when he’s done grooming, but I’m not taking another ice shower because of him and his needs.”

“Dean?” Jack said quietly.

Dean turned and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. Who were you expecting?”

“Are you okay?” Jack asked.

Dean shrugged. “I’m cold thanks to my artic shower, and I’m going to have to kick Sam’s ass, but, yeah, I’m good. Are you okay?”

“Yes. I just had a strange dream.”

Dean grinned wolfishly. “Yeah? Clowns or midgets?”

“Neither,” Jack said.

Dean shrugged. “Maybe next time.” He wandered away towards his room, leaving Jack staring after him.

He wasn’t sure if it was a dream or if this was the spell reset, but he needed to know which. He went back into his room and dressed quickly and then hurried to the library where Castiel was was coming out of the hall that led to the kitchen.

“Sam is looking for you, Jack.”

“Is he okay?”

Castiel’s lips quirked into a smile. “He seems a little agitated, but I think he’s basically okay. I’ll let him tell you himself.”

“Okay,” Jack said then stopped on his way across the room. “Castiel, do you remember anything weird happening?”

Castiel frowned. “I remember watching a strange movie last night. I had no idea cheerleading tournaments were that serious, and I had no idea Dean would watch movies about them. I’m not entirely sure it was about the short skirts either. But otherwise, no, I don’t remember anything weird. Why?”

“No reason,” Jack said.

He heard the slamming of cupboards and muttering before he reached the kitchen. As he turned into the tiled room, Jack saw Sam, facing away from him, opening and closing doors on empty cupboards.

“Sam,” Jack said tentatively.

Sam spun around and his face bore a look of annoyance that was usually saved for Dean’s antics. “Jack,” he said impatiently. “I know you’re being influenced by Dean and his dumbassery, but there are some pranks that are too stupid even for him.”

“Pranks?” Jack asked.

Sam opened a cupboard and pointed at the boxes of Krunch Kookie cereal inside. “Four boxes, Jack? I guess that’s funny, but clearing the fridge of all my stuff is pretty stupid. And it’s a waste.”

“I didn’t do this,” Jack said wonderingly.

It _had_ been real, and this was proof. The cereal was the first thing he’d found wrong in that other world, the world where his family was spread out and changed. The spell had undone it, apparently reset it to the same morning, but it hadn’t done it completely. Some of their stuff was still gone.

It felt strangely like a relief to Jack. He hadn’t imagined it all. And the others didn’t remember. Sam and Dean weren’t mourning what they’d lost in that world, those lives, and Castiel wasn’t weighed down by the person he’d been there and the choices he’d made. 

Sam sighed. “Then it was Dean. Sorry, man, I should have guessed he’d dropped a level. It’s just the candy made me think it was you. Never mind. I’ll go to the store and restock our stuff.” He took out his wallet. “I’ll pay for it and get the money off him later. I’m not going to be the one paying for his dumb sense of humor. Do you want to…”

He trailed off as he flipped his wallet open and then his face paled and he swayed. Jack quickly guided him to a chair and leaned close. “What’s wrong, Sam? Do you need Cas? Do you need Dean?”

Sam shook his head mutely.

“What’s wrong?”

Sam turned his open wallet so Jack could see the photograph of his wife and son from that other world. They were beaming up out of the picture, and as Jack watched, a tear splashed down on the plastic cover.

“I remember them,” Sam said quietly.

Jack winced. “I’m sorry.”

“It really happened? They were there?”

“Yes,” Jack said. “I’m sorry, Sam. What do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Sam said, closing his wallet and wiping a hand over his face to clear the tears. “It’s okay.”

It clearly wasn’t though. He was in pain. “Should I talk to Cas?” he asked. “I think he can take the memory of it away. Or I can. He said it’s something I should be able to do. I can try.”

“No!” Sam said then softened his tone. “Thanks, Jack, but I don’t want that.” He smiled and tucked the wallet back in his pocket. “I want to keep it.”

“But it’s hurting you,” Jack said, his brow furrowed. 

Sam stood and patted Jack’s shoulder. “I had a life with her, Jack, and I had my son. I remember every single day of it. Everything we did and how it felt.” He shook his head, a strange smile on his face, “You’re right, it hurts like hell right now, but it also feels so damn good. I never had a chance at that life, those things, but I got them anyway. When that stops hurting, it will still feel amazing.”

“So it’s good that it hurts?” Jack asked.

“Not that it hurts, no, but it’s both at once. Trust me though, I don’t ever want to lose this.” He smiled blissfully. “I had them! Does that make sense?”

Jack considered. It was confusing, but he thought he understood it now. He remembered how happy Sam had looked with his family, his little boy, and how much pain he was in when he found that he was going to lose them. The pleasure and pain he was feeling now made sense, and he could see why Sam would want to suffer now knowing that he was going to keep the good parts when the painful part was over.

“Don’t tell Dean or Cas,” Sam said.

“Why not?” Jack asked.

“Because I think it will hurt Dean, too, for me to lose that, and Castiel would tell him if he knew. This is just between me and you, okay?”

“Okay,” Jack said. “I won’t tell them.”

He thought Sam was right. When Sam told Jack about Jessica and his life before he came back to the hunt, it looked like it hurt Dean. He didn’t know the whole story, but he knew enough about Dean to be sure it was some kind of misplaced guilt.

But Sam had it now, memories of something he could never have in the real world. Dean didn’t remember that life, and that was okay because he was happy with the one he has. Now that Sam had both, he was happier than before.

Jack thought that it was right to keep this secret. Things were going to be okay for his family.

They were all happy now. 


End file.
